I stand, broken
by Unfortunate Fates
Summary: Three words can change everything.  But for you, it only takes two.  Quick.  Not sappy, nor fluffy, nor cliche.  Just like them.


**A/N: Some bittersweet Quick to brighten your day. I love them too much for my own good.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee**

You don't understand why he's looking at you the way he is. You're over him. He's over you. It's supposed to be simple. It happens all the time. Yet as his gaze pierces yours, you find you're prone to forgetting.

Xxx

His arm brushes against yours, and you pretend with everything you have that a spark didn't just jump through your veins. You pretend that you aren't on fire. You pretend that whatever girl he's dating this week is enough to keep his mind off of you.

You feel sick when you realize you probably don't need to pretend _that_.

Xxx

"Quinn, sweetheart?"

You call back some generic response that sounds fake to your own ears, and your mom timidly steps into the room.

"I just got your grades in the mail. I wanted to congratulate you."

You accept graciously, but your cheeks hurt from smiling that isn't real enough to be worth the pain.

When she leaves, you find yourself sinking to the floor cross-legged, wondering why nothing makes sense anymore. You're nearly back on top. You're almost there.

But you just feel like gum being scraped off of an old, worn down sneaker.

Xxx

"'Sup, bee?" At first, you don't even realize he's addressing you. You haven't been on speaking terms since…then.

"Bee?"

"Queen bee. Duh." You roll your eyes.

"Right. Well in that case, nothing that concerns you." Your tone is biting, and you praise yourself for a sarcastic remark well executed.

You walk down the hall with your head held high, but you aren't thinking of your upcoming calculus test. You aren't thinking of your future, or college, or the fact that you need a solid A on this exam.

All it took was thirty seconds for him to weasel his way back into your head. (You don't admit that he weasels his way back into your heart, too. You admit even less that he never really left).

Xxx

As you lie in bed that night, you think about him more than you probably should. You tread dangerous ground, but you can't stop it anymore. It's like a floodgate. The eye contact? It created the smallest chink in the perfectly constructed armor. It's enough.

You remember.

You remember the feel of egg yolk slipping into your hair, and you remember the carefree laughter that accompanied it. You remember singing while he strummed his guitar, and you remember twirling on air. You remember kissing him. You were drunk and you felt fat, but you also felt desire.

Desire burns. It eats away at logic and composure and everything you cling to. Desire claws with a desperate intensity that you never asked to experience.

You try to pretend you don't want him.

You can only last so long before the dam breaks.

Xxx

You decide to hate him. The alternative is frightening, dangerous. You don't let yourself think of it. You've been down that road before, and look at where it left you. Hate. Right.

When you see him the first time, you don't waver. A cold, hard glare assaults him and his eyes widen in shock. You just toss your wispy, perfectly styled hair over your shoulder in a move that's taken you years to perfect, and leave him gaping.

It doesn't get easier.

Xxx

You start dating his best friend as a distraction. It's a shame that poor, gullible Finn has to be taken along for the ride, but you need him. Perhaps not in the same way as you need _him_, but Finn has a purpose.

Not that Finn ever stopped him before.

Xxx

You talk. Words are exchanged. You scream, you whisper, you cry, you hit. He stands stoic, a soldier. The contrast is startling.

"I never asked for you!" you finally cry, fist connecting with his chest.

"You didn't have to," he replies, and you're speechless because all of it's true, so true, and all you can do is pray for it to end somehow.

Xxx

When a single flower appears on her doorstep, you don't even consider Finn until you pick it up, snip off the stem, and tuck the bloom gently behind your ear.

When you ask him, Finn uses his patented 'confused' look.

When you ask _him_, he scoffs and looks at the ground. "A flower? Who do you think I am, Kurt?"

A laugh shouldn't bubble out of your lips. You're a good girl. You should be standing up for your friend. But bubble up it does.

You look at him, really look at him, and you already know what you're going to see. He doesn't flinch away from your gaze. His eyes remain confident, cocky even, and his jaw is set surely. You want to look away.

When have you ever gotten anything you wanted?

He opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head. This moment, it's real.

It's the broken kind of perfect.

Xxx

You start forgetting to hate him.

The glares start slipping like water and the angry ball of fire in your stomach starts to fizzle out. It's snuffed by all things _him_.

Finn breaks up with you. You fight the urge to laugh at his awkward, bumbling way of telling you he prefers Rachel.

"Okay," you tell him nonchalantly. He's left with a look of shock so reminiscent to _his_ that you turn away with tears shimmering in your eyes.

Xxx

He's melting you. Quinn Fabray, Ice Queen. You're getting warmer, warmer. People ask questions, they give you worried looks. You brush it all away.

Just because you aren't made of ice doesn't mean you aren't still unbreakable.

Rumors fly, but you silence them with just one look, with just one word. The masses are still under your control even when your heart is not.

It pounds against your ribcage when you see him walk by, and you look for him involuntarily when the halls are crowded. You can't focus.

You hate him for making you love him.

Xxx

"We can't do this anymore," you finally tell him. He's leaning against his car coolly.

"Do what?" he asks, and you hate him more than ever.

"I don't want you."

"Really? Seems like you do," he leers.

"I don't want to want you. Please leave me alone."

"What the hell am I supposed to do? Move out of Lima?"

"I don't care what you do. I just want you gone." Your voice is careful and controlled.

"Sorry to break it to you, but it isn't your choice. And it's not like I don't love you, too."

Your world comes crashing down.

The walls you've so carefully built are shattering like glass right in front of him and his words are echoing cruelly in your head. You want to turn on your heel and leave him.

You find that you can't.

Xxx

You're in his car and you don't know where you're going. All you know is that anywhere sounds better than home. He turns on the radio and you know that there's no need to speak.

He hums along and you join him, harmonizing. If only Mr. Schue could see you now.

You aren't surprised when you pull into the parking lot near the football field. You let him take your hand and try your hardest to make the spark vanish.

You can feel the wisps of it burn your skin.

You walk, hand in hand, brokenly perfect, to the clearing behind the shed. It's where you told him you loved him for the first time.

You converse. Nothing is off limits, and you learn so much about him it's hard to take in. He learns about you. Your secrets, your desires, your dreams. It's all laid out neatly for him to pick apart. He could break you if he wanted to.

He doesn't.

The night grows cold and you shiver. He hugs you, uncharacteristically gentle (though not uncharacteristic for you), and you lie together. The grass scratches against your skin and stains your jacket, but you couldn't care less. This moment won't last forever. None of it will.

And as you're about to fall asleep, you come to a realization. You two never had a chance.

You aren't the broken kind of perfect.

You're the perfect kind of broken.

**Review?**


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